Lorraine held the phone cupped to her shoulder, as she sat on the edge of the desk and took out her cigarettes. ‘Yes, Raymond Vallance showed up here, then shot himself.’
‘Good God, not at Sonja’s?’ Feinstein said, stunned.
‘No, in the car park of this hotel.’
‘I can’t say I’m sorry — I never liked the man.’ Feinstein was silent for a moment, then asked if Lorraine had seen Sonja. She said she had.
‘How is she?’ the lawyer asked.
Lorraine drew an ashtray across the desk. ‘Weird. On the edge.’
‘Well, she made it to the finishing tape at least. She’s got the estate in her pocket now. Did you talk to her about the paintings?’
‘She says she doesn’t know anything about them. I don’t think she gives much of a damn about the whole thing — it’s her money missing as much as yours, but she just doesn’t seem to care.’
‘Yeah, well, if she doesn’t, I do. Haven’t you come up with anything else?’ Feinstein pressed.
‘Well, there’s one other thing you might check out — the accounts of the film studio, in case that soaked the money up.’
‘Jesus Christ, don’t mention them. I’ve never seen anything like it. The company wasn’t really my department — I handled Harry’s personal affairs — but there was a corporate accountant, total fucking crook,’ Feinstein said loftily, as though his own integrity was beyond question. ‘Plus a show-business lawyer that Nathan used sometimes. We’ve got an auditor in. It’s a mess, but I’ll look into it. Did Sonja tip you off to this other movie scenario?’
‘No, the guy she lives with suggested it.’
‘You don’t think the two of them are covering their own tracks?’
‘I don’t know,’ said Lorraine thoughtfully. ‘I just don’t know.’
‘How long are you planning on staying out there?’ Feinstein asked, in the-meter’s-running fashion.
‘I’m coming back tonight,’ Lorraine said, hoping that would make him happy, and thinking again of Jake. ‘I just think this Vallance thing’s suspicious. Everyone connected to Harry Nathan seems to drop dead. I thought I might just call Sonja again.’
‘Well, quit thinking and fucking do it,’ Feinstein said. ‘I’ve got to go.’
When Arthur returned to the house there was no sign of Sonja. His head ached as the hangover kicked in. He felt tired and disoriented, and had woken in a panic, full of the compulsion to rush back to Sonja’s side, make sure she was still there, still okay. Things couldn’t go on this way, he thought. Either there had to be more to their relationship than this babysitting, as she called it, or it would have to end.
Both kitchen and sitting room were empty, though he noticed that the videos had vanished.
‘Sonja?’ he called, as he walked upstairs.
Her voice floated back. ‘I’m in the bath.’ That was odd, he thought. She didn’t normally bathe during the day, but then, last night had hardly been a normal night.
‘May I come in?’ he said. The atmosphere was warm and fragrant with the citrus scent of one of Sonja’s bath essences. He could tell, even before he looked at her, that her mood had lifted. She lay in the pale green water, her long limbs floating, her hair, face and neck all smothered in a layer of some rich turquoise treatment cream. She looked wonderful, he thought, like some richly decorated Egyptian idol.
She smiled at him. ‘I’m sorry about last night.’ Her eyes were more cat-like than ever, heavy with an expression of deep contentment. God, he thought, she didn’t need him: she had positively restored herself in his absence, seemed happier than she had in weeks. ‘Where did you go?’ she said.
‘Into town. I met Mrs Page. She kind of sobered me up. She’s leaving this afternoon.’
Sonja disappeared under the water for a moment, then sat up and began to rinse the blue cream from her hair and skin. ‘I hope you didn’t say too much to her.’
‘No more than you did yesterday, I think,’ Arthur said, with a touch of irritation.
‘Oh, Arthur, let’s not start again,’ she said, standing up in the bath to squeeze the water out of her hair. ‘She has no idea that she and I’ve ever met before.’ She swathed herself in a thick white towel and walked into the bedroom. There was some part of Sonja that he could not reach. He had no idea why one day she would be energetic and warm, the next cold and inert. Certainly he had no idea what was responsible for this sunniness, but he decided to postpone the conversation he had meant to have with her about Nathan. How many times had he decided that? he thought wryly.
The phone rang, and Sonja pulled a face, so Arthur crossed the room and picked it up.
‘I’m not in,’ she said, selected a comb and headed back to the bathroom.
‘Speaking. Who is this?’ Arthur said, gesturing to Sonja to stay in the room. ‘Ah, you didn’t catch the bus then... She’s in the bath — do you want me to pass on a message?’ Sonja tucked the towel more tightly around herself. ‘I’m all ears.’ He sat on the bed, then stood bolt upright. ‘What?’ Sonja moved closer, but Arthur’s attention was focused on the call. ‘My God, I can’t believe it.’ He listened for quite a while, then thanked Lorraine for calling, and replaced the phone.
‘Raymond Vallance shot himself. He’s dead.’ He turned to face her. ‘Did you hear what I said?’
Sonja started to comb her hair. ‘Yes,’ she said, ‘I know. Vern Muller stopped by earlier and told me.’
‘Why didn’t you say anything?’
‘I was going to but you started in on me so quickly about talking to Mrs Page. Is that why she’s still here? Vallance, I mean.’
‘I dunno, I suppose so. I think she wanted to speak to you, but she didn’t push it.’
Well,’ Sonja said, ‘she’s not the police. She has no power to make anybody answer questions.’ That seemed an odd thing to say, Arthur thought, almost as though Sonja were hiding something... He rubbed his head, which was throbbing.
Sonja knelt on the bed close behind him and ran her arms around him, her skin still damp from the bath. ‘Does your head hurt?’ Her voice was gentle, almost seductive.
‘Yes.’
Sonja kissed his neck, then rolled off the bed. ‘I’ll get you some aspirin.’
He tried to catch her arm, but missed. ‘Vallance didn’t come out here, did he?’ he called after her. She was halfway out of the room and, again, he had the impression that she was avoiding any discussion of Vallance’s death.
‘No,’ she said, over her shoulder.
Arthur got up and followed her out of the door. ‘Sonja,’ he said, ‘stop a minute.’
‘Arthur, I’m soaking wet. I’ll just get this and come right back.’
‘Sonja, were you here all morning?’
‘Of course I was,’ she said, looking him full in the eye. Arthur said nothing. ‘You can ask Muller,’ Sonja continued. ‘He was here within five minutes of Vallance’s death. He called to tell me personally.’
‘Sonja,’ Arthur said, ‘Mrs Page said something about Vallance getting some call at the dining table in the Maidstone Arms, just before he died. I don’t suppose he called here, did he?’
He could see her hesitate between a lie and the truth.
‘Well, yes, he did, but I wouldn’t speak to him.’
‘What did he say?’
Sonja shrugged. ‘Just that he wanted to see me, said he wanted to talk about old times.’
‘Is that all?’
‘Yes,’ Sonja said, her eyes flashing. ‘That’s all. Now stop the investigation, Sherlock. I’ll go and put some coffee on and if your head still aches...’
‘Yeah, aspirin urgently required.’ He leaned back across the bed, feeling almost sick with the pain. Raymond Vallance was dead: he still couldn’t believe it — he’d seen the man only that morning. The news shocked him, and he had hardly known Vallance — but Sonja had hardly reacted at all and she had known him for years. He sat up, with a sense of foreboding: what if she had called Vallance? What could she have said that would have made him shoot himself?